


A certain softness

by Anonymous



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Dom/sub Undertones, Edgeplay, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Insecurity, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Praise Kink, Teasing, Voice Kink, because Paul is a mess, they are in their late 30s/early 40s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:02:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27824965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Paul feels weird about his praise kink, John absolutely loves it
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33
Collections: Anonymous





	A certain softness

"Macca? Be a good boy and fetch those papers for me."

Paul obliged, of course he did, standing up from where he scanned the newspaper to keep up with the world and taking something that reminded a nest of a chaotic bird but was just a lump of John's notes, his messy handwriting everywhere.

"Thanks, honey."

Paul ignored the blood rushing to his face, no way he was being affected by a stupid wordplay. And he definitely wasn't begging John to call him a good boy once again. At almost 40, crazy hormones didn't rule his brain. Nuh-uh. 

"Something's the matter, darling?"

John lifted his gaze, immediately piercing him with sparkling eyes. An awful feeling ran down Paul's spine, if John connected the dots, he would press and press till he reached the core of Paul's strange behaviour. And then he would mock him. Paul shifted from side to side, lips stretching to accommodate a huge smile. He ignored the traitorous twitch of his cock.

"Nothing's the matter."

John kept staring at him, tapping a pen on the wooden table. Tap tap tap, a fitting melody for someone getting mad. 

"Is the good boy bit, isn't it?"

"Mmm hmm." 

Paul's smile slowly fell as he thoroughly inspected the wall behind the sofa. Half of his life had been dedicated to pleasing others, from an annoying math teacher to his dad, and when he reached the point when he managed to say no, John had to waltz in. A friend turned into a lover, with those inspecting eyes, softened with years. A man. The only man Paul had done something more than awkward hand jobs.

"Stop thinking and come here," John murmured, his hand curling around Paul's hip to gently push him forward till his long nose basically brushed Paul's crotch. Then he added the other hand, lightly brushing the sensitive area, too light to make Paul cum but enough to draw a sigh after sigh from him.

Paul's teeth bit down on his lips, pointlessly trying to appear composed despite all the taunting. His skin burned with shame, afraid John would change his mind and laugh at him.

Finally, John gazed up to him with dilated pupils, a grin tugging at his lips. For a moment Paul thought it was some kind of a sick joke, the kind when one person pretended to date the other to use everything against them. He opened his mouth to say something, maybe a snarky remark or a question, didn't stand a chance as John patted the sofa next to him, his hand not leaving Paul's body as he complied. 

"What's bothering you, Paulie?" 

The hand rested now on his knee, just lingering there. A reminder of some tenderness, perhaps, the warm touch encouraging Paul to reply.

"'s embarrassing," he mumbled, not lifting his head.

"What is?"

"I...me reacting like-like **that** to something trivial." 

The beat of silence squeezed Paul's skull, he could clear his own heartbeat and blood rushing, a lump forming inside his throat.

"I love it."

It was uttered without hesitance, the grasp on his knee growing stronger to convey what wasn't said.

"What?"

John laughed, patting the protruding bone before moving it to rest on Paul's upper thigh.

"Yeah, you are so cute and sexy, and so, so flustered, so reactive, whenever you let go, whenever you allow me to see you." 

Every little compliment made Paul fuzzy, it was something he needed, craved. Even on the stage, seeing the crowds of fans, that was one of the reasons he couldn't quit touring. In personal life, he relished little compliments but rarely received them, his previous girlfriends somehow expecting him to take that role. Which made John the first person who not only noticed Paul's odd relationship with attention but was willing to provide him with it -- even outside the bedroom. 

And if that didn't make it even more complicated. Because deep inside there was this weird urge to deserve love, to do something for it, to treat it like a good trade, and receiving an endless amount of affection spoke against everything Paul had learnt. 

"You know," John's nasal voice brought him back to the real world. "I think you deserve to see how much I enjoy it, don't you think? Because you are always a good boy, Paul, always trying and being very attentive, which makes me think I must have neglected you." He spoke quietly, the slow movement of his hand caressing up and down Paul's leg highlighting each word. "Will you let me make it up to you, Paul?" 

"I-I...you-I mean-"

Paul decided to seal his lips, not knowing what to do or say. He registered John caressing his face, as if he was made of glass, laying him down. Paul let him, the erratic speed of his heart and breath paralysing every movement. The mellow cushions pressed against his back, and he let out a shuddering exhale, eyes transfixed on the ceiling.

John moved around, setting on his knees next to the couch, hovering over Paul as he continued cupping his face, gently tilting Paul's chin till their eyes met.

"There you are," he smiled reassuringly. "We will take it slow, yeah? And stop anytime you please."

When he didn't receive any response, John traced the outline of Paul's lips. "You have to talk to me, babe, or-OR just nod. To let me know it's alright."

So, Paul did, just a subtle movement of his head, up and down, because John was right, he couldn't see the thoughts swirling in his head, not when Paul resembled a wax figurine.

It earned him a kiss to the left corner of his mouth, a sweet albeit brief touch. And a whispered 'thank you'. 

John retreated, making himself comfortable, but the hand didn't disappear, instead it lightly danced across the fabric of Paul's woollen sweater, eagerly but steadily making its way lower to the brim of the garment where it stroked, a tad more firmly, his clothed stomach.

The anticipation muffled the paranoid part of Paul, the part that grumbled things about men not being born to FoRniCatE with other men. He gasped loudly when John's chilly fingers slipped under, skimming over his stomach. 

Unbiased, John hiked the sweater up, over Paul's abdomen, ribs and chest, satisfied when it bundled under Paul's chin. Then he started to observe, attentive eyes sweeping over every curve, crevice and contour. 

Paul squirmed, feeling more exposed than if he was naked. He didn't like the softness of his upper body, especially his belly, where fat seemed to aggregate. Some woman whose face nor name he couldn't recall remarked once he had curves like a pretty lady. She meant it as a compliment, a harmless jest perhaps, but Paul had never forgotten those words. Heard them repeating in his head whenever he compared John's sharp figure with his.

"Shh, don't fret now," John ordered, tickling Paul's ribs with feather-like touches. "Wanna enjoy the view."

Paul wanted to object, furrowed his brows in concentration as he was looking for the right words. It all ended with a long drawn-out moan, a mixture of pleasure and surprise, when John's finger rubbed his nipple. 

"See?" The man grinned obviously pleased with himself. "Such a sensitive lad." He started to lightly pull at the pink nubs, watching them pebble and flush, then whipped them with the tip of his tongue. Had the nerve to chuckle when Paul arched his back. 

To Paul's utter mortification, his dick pressed against his trousers, betraying him even if he intended to feign indifference. He tried to shift around to see if it could offer him relief, hummed uneasily when nothing happened. Well, nothing except John continued south, teeth scraping the pale skin all the way to Paul's navel. 

Out of instinct, Paul's hands, comically linked together by the sweater, moved to cover his problematic zone. John clicked his tongue, seizing hold of Paul's wrist and guiding them back above Paul's head. He must see the mayhem of emotions washing over Paul's feature because a warm-hearted kiss was bestowed on his nose and cheeks. 

"Jus' like that, Paul, nice and easy, there is nothing to be ashamed of, 's just me." 

The cooing together with the caring tone eased the strained muscles, and Paul focused on the pleasure of John playing with his nipples, clever fingers brushing the now swollen tips. Nevertheless, when John shifted his focus onto Paul's stomach again his body froze under the light touches. This time it didn't provoke a verbal reaction from John, he merely held Paul by his hips and started to lick, nibble and suck at the tender flesh, fingers fondling the little lump of fat that bothered Paul the most.

Slowly, very slowly, Paul's lips parted as he had more troubles to remain still, John's ministrations becoming bolder his chin or the edge of his palm grazing Paul's groin ever so often. Noting the not so subtle twitching of his lover's body, John introduced his tongue, tickling the skin around Paul's navel, relishing the shallow gasps and jumping muscles.

Paul was just on the verge of figuring out the rhythm when John palmed him without any warning, causing him to yelp a high note, something that would be admirable on their latest LP but in this situation it only drew more blood to his face. 

"Ah, keep those sounds up, Macca," John remarked too casually for someone who was currently fiddling with Paul's fly, sliding his trousers down and carelessly tossing them to the ground. He playfully tickled Paul's ankle before kissing his way to the fury thighs, coating the skin with saliva. Familiar with John's greediness, Paul shut his eyes in the hopes of not embarrassing himself, his legs spreading on their own accord.

He whined, when John's sharp teeth sank into the silky skin of his inner thighs, so fucking close to his straining erection. John dared to come higher, biting the most delicate part of Paul's legs, his fingers grazing the skin under his boxers, purposely avoiding the heated organ.

"Jo-hn." 

Paul tried, clumsily lifting his head to get the message through his boyfriend's ginger hair. He was rewarded by a crooked grin, the one that told him this session wasn't even half finished.

"Yer right, I got a bit carried away," John spoke again, moving so he faced Paul. "We shouldn't rush it, right?" His lips were hovering above Paul's, so close Paul could feel John's breath, he craned his neck, suddenly longing for a proper kiss, but John only chuckled, eyes raking over Paul's features. _"Christ_ , you are so beautiful," he whispered close to Paul's ear, the confession cracking the mask of dominance. 

"Sappy idio-hmmf," Paul mumbled before John brought their lips together, effectively preventing him from elaborating.

The kiss went on for ages, a languid dance of tongues resonating with moans. John's thumb held Paul's jaw, leaving him deliciously trapped, the firmness of the grasp contrasting with the careful slide of their mouths.

But something stirred in Paul, the teasing being too much, and he attempted to take the upper hand, at least for a fragment of a second. Reading his lover's intentions, John pulled back, fingers diving into the mass of dark hair, and began peppering Paul's throat with kisses. 

If the helplessness of not being able to dictate the tempo of their kiss had frustrated him, the following predicament was even more torturous. Thick fingers embedded firmly into his dark hair, John helped himself to all the sensitive places. He kissed the special spot behind Paul's ear, then stung it with his the edge of his teeth before tracing his jaw. By the time he arrived at the valley of Paul's collarbone, the air was thick with wet slurping noises and incoherent babbling.

Releasing the bruised skin with a wet plop, John planted one last kiss to Paul's sternum and decided to spice things up. Paul didn't fidget when a calloused finger mapped the skin under his boxers' waistband, his eyes heavy with arousal. He let out an adorable squeak when John gave his shaft a few pulls before pulling the offending piece of cloth down.

A shiver run up Paul's spine when his dick slapped against his belly -- hard, angrily red and leaking. Once again, John stared at the scene in front of him as if in awe, then very slowly grazed the entire shaft with his finger. Paul's reaction was definitely comical, considering the volume following such a tiny movement but he felt like John touched his exposed nerves.

He didn't even add other fingers, caressing up and down, occasionally toying with the velvety head. A tap on Paul's knee forced him to blink his eyes open. John held the gaze as he slowly licked his palm placing it at the base. Not. moving. 

Paul tried to jerk his hips up, utilising the remnants of his strength. Only to have a large hand pinning him down. They stared at each other. Paul wordlessly urging John to move. 

When it finally happened, one slick stroke up, Paul leaned into the touch, exhaling in little puffs. "Such a precious boy, Paul, but I still don't feel like you have given me yer best." John started to jerk him off faster, encouraging every little sound with praises. Paul almost believed he was inches away from the release and moaned unashamedly, the pleasure building up clouding his mind.

"J-john?"

Paul couldn't grasp the reality of it, John stopped completely, even retreated his hand and with one kiss to the mushy tip began to caress Paul's perineum. 

"JOHN!"

Paul half barked, half sobbed, his leg twitching as he desperately focused on not bringing his hands down to communicate what he needed. 

"What is it, honey?" John taunted. "Am I not making you feel good, hmm?"

Paul glanced up, intending to burn John with annoyance, his face contorting in pleasure instead because John paid attention to his balls -- fingerpads ghosting over them, teasingly running a little higher, promising _something_.

Paul would gladly take that something, anything really at this point, he would even thank John for letting him finish himself off. He thrashed uncontrollably when thin lips wrapped themself around his shaft. 

As before, John didn't bob or move in any way, just stayed there, the head of Paul's dick buried in his mouth, tongue darting out occasionally. 

Every muscle in his body taut, Paul gulped, wishing he could block the sensation of John's saliva mixed with his precum flowing down his length. Little whimpers escaped his plump lips, not an ounce of power left to stop them.

Suddenly, John's lips were gone but before Paul could protest, John swallowed him entirely, and it felt amazing. Fingers still skimming over the little patch of skin behind Paul's balls, John's rhythm got frenzier and messier. Paul could hear his own hoarse mewls and cries as the knot in his lower stomach grew tighter. He managed to catch himself in case John had another wicked plan but nothing like that happened.

John must enjoy it too if the little moans and hums accompanying the gagging sounds were of any indication. Paul focused on John's hands on him, his breathing and before he could even comprehend what was happening, he was cumming.

John drank it all, riding him through it and sucking every little drop till Paul softened. He didn't release him, though, tongue tracing the oversensitive skin till Paul tried to move, a feeble moan reaching John's ears.

He retreated, immediately scooping Paul up and carrying him god knows why.

"'m heavy." Paul slurred, automatically throwing his hands around John's neck.

"Shurrup," the strong man silenced him, opening the door to the room that definitely wasn't their bedroom.

"'whu-S-at?" Paul grumbled, contently snuggling into something fluffy John threw over his exhausted body.

"Bathroom, darling, figured out we could use a bubbly bath before sleep. Especially our good boy here."

The sound of running water dragged Paul from his slumber, his senses no longer numbed by the previous activity. John was twiddling around with various soaps and salts and whatsoever, bending to reach new towels. Paul could see the way John's jeans stretched over his bum, a peak of skin where the shirt rilled up…

…"reckon we could switch it up before bed?" 

The blush on John's cheeks screamed yes, and Paul couldn't wait.

**Author's Note:**

> tududum, 80s paul is a good boy, don't @ me


End file.
